Bloody (Insert Exclamatory Phrase Here)
by Cornishpixies7
Summary: "Ronald, quit being a farcical and parochial prat!" "...What does that even MEAN?" Oh, the joys of love


Hermione Granger proscribed to admit she was redoubtable at something. While particularly unskilled at the repugnant social interactions with girls her age and lacking the ease to be an artist, she held her ground, blatantly admitting that if she put enough hard work into her said goal, she would in fact be deft at it. Needless to say, Hermione Jean Granger at the current moment would temporarily lose her momentous struggle of greatness to admit that she in fact "sucked" at one task: grieving.

She stood stock-still in the Great Hall, the bustling and cries of warriors white noise to her. She focused her eye on what was the Gryffindor table, now tarnished with black soot and the pungent odor of death. Almost envisaging, she could see the faint outline of her second year self stuffing food into her small frame, while scowling at the memory-Ronald. The temporary lapse in reality was pleasant, but was quickly ruined by the loud howl from Percy Weasley, who was thrown over a body that once belonged to Fred Weasley. Hermione's chest clenched violently, and black spots swam before her vision. She found her legs fleetingly moving themselves to the staircase where she quarreled with Ronald 4th year. Each piece of the ruined castle now haunted her memories. Everything was Ronald. Bore the mark of a fiery boy.

She sat down on the stairs, surrounded by rubble and inhaling dirt. Where WAS that boy? _Think Hermione!_ She told herself scornfully. But of course! He was mourning. She chided herself for her selfishness. Here she was, thinking about a boy when he probably needed a friend. _Get up, you babbling fool! _She pushed herself up, wincing at a sharp pain that resounded from her wrist. Before the blink of an eye, a frazzled and red-eyed Madame Pompfrey appeared before her.

"Ms. Granger! Why you are a ruddy mess! And oh dear, a broken wrist it seems. You head right up to the infirmary and clean up, I'll fix that in no time. Don't give me that look, child, you need the medical attention… NOW!" And before she knew it, she was whisked up to the infirmary, a tie with Ron following her.

Hermione sat in the shower, staring at the clean tiled floor. The water was stained black from the dirt that caked her skin. She stared at her toes, which were a brilliant pink from the scalding water that beat upon them. She was too fatigued to daintily climb out of the shower, so she carelessly threw her body out of the shower, falling on one her many bruises and cuts. Seething through the oppressive pain, she dressed herself slowly into clean clothes that Madame Pompfrey provided. She remembered reading that in some cultures, in mourning, one kept on dirty close. Considering this, she searched for her battle clothes and put on her bloodstained jeans accompanied with the clean shirt. She hurried out of the washroom before she could think about mourning anymore.

She reentered the infirmary, and had her arm quickly and painlessly set by the frantic Madame Pompfrey. After graciously thanking her, she was pulled into a bone-crushing hug and shooed to the Great Hall to eat, as it apparently was breakfast time. Feeling nothing, absolutely nothing in her, she tread quietly to the Gryffindor Common Room, as if she had never left. The halls eerily echoed her footsteps: light and quiet.

She passed by a few families ascending the grand staircase. They were all blurry faces, fairly stout and gruff, as their voices carried across the stairwell.

"Poor boy, sidekick of the Potter boy. No brother now."

Hermione's heart contracted once again for the mention of RW. She swiftened her gait, and arrived steadfastly at the portrait hole. She gaped at the sight of the Fat Lady, who was decked out in battalion gear, and screaming indistinguishable words in her grave accent. The armor pinched her obese belly, causing her to flush. She cocked her bulbous head at the approaching frame of Hermione and furrowed her bristly brow at her.

"Dearie you should be celebrating, not encroaching here when LORD VOLDEMORT'S DEAD!" She revealed a brilliant belch, causing the conservative Hermione to wrinkle her nose in moderate disgust.

"Yes, yes. Now I hope you don't mind me entering without the pass-"

"Oh dearie, you are always welcome after your marvelous feats!" The portrait swung open, and Hermione entered the deserted common room. Everything was intact: from the scarlet couches and ornate tables loaded with homework. Yet, the scent of death and despair lingered in the air. A slight breeze flowed into the space, and Hermione turned to locate the source of the breeze, her inner curiosity getting the best of her, and trumping exhaustion.

Where the girl's dormitory stood, was a spectacular hole that presented a perilous drop onto the silent and disturbed grounds of Hogwarts. She blinked twice, no longer seeing the four poster beds and warmth that once defined the dormitories. Consequences and war replaced them. Unable to look at the devastation before her, she hauled her body to the boy's dormitory, which was fortuitously intact. Entering the first door that she saw, she was overcome by the smell of grass and parchment… by gosh this was Ron's dormitory. She located his bed from 6th year, still bearing his scent despite his year-long absence, sunk into it, and fell fast asleep.


End file.
